


Entrée

by Hambone



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Canon-Typical Violence, Double Penetration, Gross, Other, Slime, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 10:50:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18233897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone
Summary: Aldrich plays with his Pontiff.





	Entrée

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quickie. Where's the Pontiff porn guys why are you holding out on me???
> 
> Sulyvahn has a vagina jsyk
> 
> Enjoy!

    “Your Holiness.”

    Sulyvahn bowed lightly. Aldrich took great pleasure in noting the way his thighs strained, ever so slightly, and cupped a small hand beneath his stolen chin in amusement.

    “Pontiff.”

    Warm, soft. Sulyvahn had come from a cold world, and to the touch his skin was like hard marble, but Aldrich knew better than most that all men were red inside, and all of them just as hot and wet. In his stinking mire he lay, coiled about his new body as a snake poised to strike, but simply observed as his most useful disciple stood straight again. He could feel the way the Pontiff’s blood sped quicker under his gaze and preened.

    “What is your desire?”

    Sulyvahn spoke with double meaning. Upon his return, Aldrich had done nothing but indulge in the earthly pleasures death had robbed him of, all of which his church had supported fully. Even now Gwyndolin moaned pitifully from time to time, body slow to rot where Aldrich sucked at what was left. It was cruel, incredibly so, to let the poor poisoned God watch the world’s destruction from within Aldrich’s eyes, and Sulyvahn could not have approved more. All the old empire sewed their own reapings, as gangrenous as Aldrich himself. He’d be glad when the queen’s pretty face finally dissolved into blackness.

    “Oh, dear Pontiff,” Aldrich sighed, smiling with Gwyndolin’s teeth as he shook his head, “you do serve me well, don’t you?”

    He had become easily adept at moving his great fountain of a body, even in the smallest of pieces, as simple as clenching a fist. The smile of the dying God widened for him as Sulyvahn stiffened again. To anyone disaccustomed to him his discomfort would be invisible, but Aldrich knew him far better than anyone else ever could.

    “My every action is dedicated to you.”

    Aldrich laughed, a deep and bubbling sound from far within himself.

    “Your lies only convince those who want to hear them, Sulyvahn. But you know I adore that just as well.”

    Like fingers curling, he drew another twitch forth. He could smell that racing pulse within his Pontiff now, taste it on his black and pus filled skin. To his credit, Sulyvahn laughed quietly, for he had no shame nor fear of being caught out. His lie had been meant as much in flattery as sarcasm and for it to have escaped Aldrich would have been a waste of breath. Sulyvahn wasted nothing.

    “My good servant, my wicked knight. I don’t need your false promises to know where your allegiance lies. You couldn’t betray me if you wanted to.”

    Any words Sulyvahn had for him were lost as Aldrich finally released himself. Sulyvahn fell to his knees hard on the tile, a resounding crack echoing in the room, followed by a deep groan. Aldrich called the piece of himself he’d left inside Sulyvahn back to his whole. Almost the moment he hit the ground you could hear the squelch of it, and while his skirts covered the signs Aldrich knew how soaked he was, how his cunt had quivered all day around the black ball of puttied body he’d sent slithering inside early in the morning. All this time he’d luxuriated in his chambers as the Pontiff did his duties, relishing in the feel of his flexing muscle even from far away as he twisted and turned against it. How perfectly he commanded his knights, how unmoved his sonorous voice remained, even when Aldrich woke his flesh to seek out and abuse every point of pressure it could find, roiling and alive.

    Sulyvahn had not given away their game but he had not be unaffected. As he slumped forward, bracing his hands against his thighs to keep himself upright, the release of Aldrich’s mass from within him let flow a torrent of his own fluids alongside, the accumulation of countless orgasms borne throughout the day. When Aldrich’s limb crawled slug like from beneath his skirts it was gleaming with slick, trailing a shiny clear patch to the puddle of its own making. Sulyvahn remained poised, attempting to keep some dignity, but the way his bones shivered gave away how deeply he’d felt every inch of Aldrich’s touch.

    Aldrich could already taste Sulyvahn’s sex from the connection he had to all his self, but once the sludge reunited the flavor solidified and increased in strength and he licked Gwyndolin’s lips, salivating. In his time alive he had met and known many beings from many worlds, but Sulyvahn’s origins still eluded him. He had a taste to him that always intrigued, full and earthy.

    “How warmly you’ve cradled me, all day long,” he cooed, words drowning out Gwyndolin’s shaking sigh, “how delicious your submission is.”

    From the floor, Sulyvahn wheezed deeply.

    “Of course,” he said, “as it should be.”

    His voice did not bear any of the weakness his body showed. He looked up at Aldrich, or at least it could be assumed he did, and waited patiently. Aldrich knew better than to think this man would ever really worship him, or even fear him; Sulyvahn had outlived him once already. He was as intelligent as he was malicious, and one day he would step without fear into the afterlife, accounting for every stone along the path. Of course, resistance is what sweetened the meat, and the raw power his Pontiff exuded was like the slowly growing fumes of a dripping roast, not quite ready, but soon, tempting.

    Aldrich surged forwards and reached his skinny arms out, almost as if about to cup Sulyvahn’s face before he stopped. He cocked Gwyndolin’s head playfully.

    “Will you give me more, hm?”

     He didn’t need permission, but he wanted it. More lies, wonderful seasoning.

    Sulyvahn shifted back into a more comfortable position on his legs and wrapped his fingers in the frayed ends of his skirt, lifting it. His hips canted upwards, and he displayed his dripping pussy. Whatever nature of thing he was still carried the traits of human sex. In another life it was the kind of sight that would have had Aldrich blushing, but now he simply smiled, his folds of flesh murmuring like the sea. Sulyvahn’s grey skin clung tight to his bones, an exaggerated and alien sharpness defining his hips and drawing a perfect line to his groin. His vulva was a red gash, raw and surprising against his ashy pallor, and in his arousal his clit had grown swollen and heavy. Aldrich had not left so much of himself inside as to stretch him wide, but he could see how Sulyvahn’s unusual folds parted and twitched in longing.

    “Ah, divine.”

    Gwyndolin was dying, soon to be dead, and could no longer produce bodily fluids, but Aldrich filled every organ and vein now and when he caught himself drooling it was black slime that came from the queen’s mouth, not saliva. Aldrich’s leavings trailed down his chin and dripped, stark against his sickly skin.

    “Such sweet succor you offer your God.”

    Sulyvahn said nothing, and Aldrich did not care. Tendrils of gore caressed his knees, swallowing them, curling up to where he ached with no patience or care. It was not painful to be engulfed, but like swimming, floating, almost as gentle as the water of the womb. Then Aldrich suctioned to his groin, sticky flesh kissing every inch of tender want, and he could not keep hidden his guttural moan. His hands had pulled away from his legs the moment Aldrich closed in and now they hovered in the air above him silently, unsure of what to do. Aldrich did not yet penetrate him, only teasing. He cupped Sulyvahn’s buttocks, spreading them to slide between, lapping at his hole there, the soft skin between, spreading his cunt lips and twisting nimble fingers around his clit, but only just, stroking him with cruel restraint.

    “Hold the wall.”

    This time he dropped the cloying falseness in his tone, but spoke still with Gwyndolin’s high voice. Sulyvahn turned, sluggish, reaching for the stones behind to steady himself. The new position angled his back to Aldrich, risen to his knees. Though much of him was still obscured by heavy vestments, his skinny back was a pleasure to see, and Aldrich ran a humanoid hand up past the cloth to feel the way his spine pushed up like mountains from the sea, and run his fingers over the spreading scar where his wings lay hidden. Sulyvahn’s every breath was deep and labored, but he was calm.

    His reward was immediate. Aldrich surged into him, pushing his entire body with it, so that he was almost flattened to the wall. It was only then he was breached, the force of it almost a blade in his gut. His legs spread, feet slipping in Aldrich’s sludge, both held still and swimming in it. Aldrich’s fat limbs spread him wide and fast, without pause. Though his previous level of arousal mitigated the pain, there was still an intense shock that made Sulyvahn arch his back and murmur quietly. His cunt was already sopping, ready for him, and there Aldrich came hard and thick until he’d pushed to the very deepest point he could, and once he’d reached the wall of Sulyvahn’s cervix he instead focused on widening him. His ass was equally forced apart, and here with none of the prior attentions; this was where much of the pain bloomed from, but Sulyvahn only continued to draw deep, grating breaths of air, and allowed it.

    Aldrich had lost much of the feeling that would constitute as sex. Every organ, every nerve within him had been ground to sludge, his body so eternally hungry that it had even consumed itself. Still he felt, though in a way incomparable with human touch. Taste would be a better word for it. Every part of him was primed to consume, to destroy, less as a body than as a singular all-inclusive mouth, fangs ever bared. The pleasure he reveled in from stretching the Pontiff wide beneath him was less of the primal urge to breed but the primeval urge to hurt, to subjugate, that singular dark and heavy need that all living things possessed when given the power to. This sorcerer had travelled worlds to find himself here, conquered kingdoms, slain Gods, and now he was on his knees scrambling to remain upright as the very saint he paid fealty to ravaged his insides.

    And ravage he did. Sulyvahn was well aware as to why he’d been urged to the wall, for if he had no surface to hold he would have been drowned within Aldrich in an instant. For all his might he had no defense against the rippling pull Aldrich had over him, the way he stroked against every possible nerve within him until he felt too full to even breathe. Maggots ate tunnels through Aldrich’s corpses, vibrating along his silky skin. His legs had begun to lose feeling, and if he was not still assured in his usefulness he would have thought they were already dissolved within the mass of writhing death that sucked his skin pink. But he was still useful, and would be indefinitely. Aldrich was a hedonist at the core, killing for sport. Without his faithful, who would be left to feed upon?

    The suction around his clitoris increased and his head rolled back along his shoulders. There was no mouth in existence able to replicate the tacky cling around him, the way Aldrich could surround and manipulate all at once, the most dexterous of fingers. Like water, Aldrich had no need to pull back or pause when filling him, but he did anyways, withdrawing some of his mass only to return with more, over and over, in a never ending tide, until Sulyvahn was certain he’d burst beneath the pressure. Though he could see nothing of himself below the waist he knew his stomach was protruding, stretched nearly white. His cunt was pouring, though it could hardly be discerned within the filth, a steady stream of estrous desperation that had been increasing in volume since the arrival of the Saint of the Deep. It was as if his body really believed he could breed with death. The thought alone made him clench hard, forcing some of Aldrich out, only to have himself double stuffed with a punishing harshness.

    “Goodness, what a lewd picture you paint.”

    Aldrich stood behind him looking pleased with himself, cupping Gwyndolin’s face between thumb and forefinger to watch. He could have cursed the God’s unwrinkled face had he the mind to. Aldrich was reaching deep inside his ass, further than he should. Sulyvahn could feel him in his stomach, like an unyielding cramp, still pushing wider and wider at the rim of his hole. Tiny tendrils plucked at the opening of his womb, soft enough that he could confuse the wrongness of the feeling with pleasure. Aldrich would ruin him, possibly already had, and he did not mind. He’d given himself bodily over the night Aldrich had arrived, wild and boiling with rebirth, his legs spread before all the Arch Deacons who merely watched with dead eyes.

    He came, and it demolished him; he’d already spent the day with his legs crossed upon his throne, sticky beneath his robes from orgasms forced out of him to the point it was painful. It was painful now, horribly, deliciously so, and his whole body shook, and he gasped raggedly. Aldrich pulled it from him in long and arduous pulses, stroking and tugging until his heartbeat was in his groin, every thud a blinding shock. Just when his nerves were nearly snapped, when the pain of the stretch of his carelessly abused holes was approaching the point where he, owner of the world, was brought to scream from it, Aldrich flowed back into himself all at once. The egress was as shocking as the ingress and he fell to his chest as the final ball of muck popped from inside him with a wet splatter of fluids.  

    Aldrich immediately slithered close, finally bringing Gwyndolin’s face down to Sulyvahn’s height, and placed both hands upon his quivering hips to hold him in place. Sulyvahn was too stiff and exhausted to care, only groaning softly when tiny, human-like fingers traced along the his backside, lazily sliding inside his winking hole to get a good look at his reddened innards. He was gaping, murky black water trickling down his inner thighs.

    With a satisfied hum, Aldrich extended Gwyndolin’s tongue and slowly, purposefully, licked him from clit to back, dipping within the opening of his holes. Sulyvahn was perhaps already overripe, but Aldrich couldn’t resist the temptation of waiting to see his flavor age and perfect. Still toying his fingers inside him, Aldrich lay Gwyndolin’s cheek along his Pontiff’s back and smiled, listening to the blood inside Sulyvahn’s body fight to keep pumping, his organs writhing in his belly. Sulyvahn was perhaps the best servant he’d ever eat. Later, later.

    “Good boy,” he said.


End file.
